Collected on top of my newly discovered treasure trove was a stack of unopened letters addressed to my father and marked to be returned to sender. I lifted the neat bundle up, brushing my fingers over my dad's name. I wondered if it would be right for me to open them. At that moment, though, I still had other papers to sort through, so saved that dilemma for later. I put the letters aside and pulled out a few opened envelopes. They were from my grandmother. Her letters peeked out from the torn envelopes, but I knew that venom likely dripped from the ink she wrote with. I didn't need to delve into that feud when I was already feeling so downtrodden over Jordan's abrupt end to our dinner.

Putting those letters aside, I came upon a pile of various memories cluttered together at the bottom of the box—photos, ticket stubs, concert fliers. It took a while to piece them together and to see the larger picture forming before me. It all began to click when I looked over a photograph of a young starlet sitting together with some musicians in a small, dirty apartment. Her smile was naïve and full of hope. Then, my eyes glanced up at a picture hanging on the wall of a teenage Georgina hugging a youthful version of my grandfather.

"This is Gina," I mumbled. "She... she was trying to be a singer?"

At first, I hadn't picked up on it because she wasn't using her name. Instead, the name Sparrow Creeke kept appearing on the various bits of memorabilia. She'd been performing under an alias and, based on the similarities in her face between the picture in my hand and the one on the wall, she was quite young when she did it.

I didn't know what I had in my hands, but I knew it was important and I knew it was a crucial moment in the life of my great aunt. A moment that would have to be featured on one of our Christmas trees along the drive. I didn't quite know what to do with that, but I knew I needed to get my journal back to stitch Gina's story together. I also needed to let Jordan know I'd found this treasure chest of lost history. It may have even been enough to turn his night back around.

I ran over to the intercom in my room and signaled for Jordan. He didn't reply. I tried a couple more times, to no avail.

"Jordan, listen. I realize you're upset, but I need to talk to you. I found a box underneath Gina's bed. It's full of pictures and letters and... Look, it would be easier if I could show you. Won't you come up or I could go down there?"

I waited for a response, but it never came.

"Fine," I said, holding down the intercom, "I'll go down to you. I just need to get my shoes and coat."

Collecting everything back into the box, I took it with me downstairs before bundling up. I then raced through the yard, doing my best to recall its layout since Jordan had no lights on to guide me to his house.

I nearly stumbled headfirst into the work shed, but stopped just short of the collision. Then I dragged my hand along the wall, following it to the small apartment attached at the other end. Taking a few cautious steps up to his door, I gave it a swift knock.

No answer.

I knocked again. And again. And again. Still no answer.

"Jordan, please, I need you to talk to me and I need the journal back. I'm won't be able to sleep until I've..."

"If I give you the journal, will you go away?" He whipped the door open with enough speed that I almost fell back down the steps in surprise.

"Don't you want to..." I hesitated, my eyes adjusting to the dim glow coming from his kitchenette microwave's light. Before me, exposed to the harsh cold of the coming winter, Jordan stood in nothing but a pair of comfortable fleece pajama pants. The rest of him lay bare and sleek in the moonlight. "I..." I started again, trying to compose myself. "I just thought you'd like to see what I found."

"Why don't you show it to your investor?" he growled.

"Jordan, that's not fair. Please, can I come inside?"

"It's your house, remember," he said, stepping away from the door. "At least for now it is."

I squeezed in before he could change his mind and he shut the door behind me. With the moonlight sealed away, the night light on the microwave did little to illuminate the space and I went in search of a switch.

"I didn't know he'd be coming tonight, okay?" After bashing my knee into a coffee table, I found a light switch. "My appraiser simply mentioned the property to him and he had given me a few calls this weekend, but I was intending to call him back tomorrow. I didn't ask him to be here."

I turned to face him, and with a proper light on, I could see him fully. Despite my exasperation, my brain still found the mental energy to drink in the way his pants loosely hung around his lean hips and how a dusting of golden brown hair covered his muscular chest. It took more effort than I want to admit to, to keep my brain from calculating the last time I'd seen any man in so few clothes in such an intimate setting.

Unable to handle the silence and in desperate need of something to distract me from how his body looked in the low light, I continued. "Look, none of what happened at dinner is really important right now. You see, I found this box underneath Georgina's bed." I placed the little chest on the coffee table that assaulted my knee and opened it before Jordan. "It's got a bunch of clippings and things from her late teens, early adult life. She wanted to be a singer, Jordan! This will make for a great tree for the display!"

"What display? This guy Dean..."

"Devon," I corrected, though I instantly regretted it.

"Whatever," he growled. "He may just throw it all away once he's bought the house. You guys already sign a contract?"

"What? No," I said with a frustrated shake of my head. "Don't be ridiculous. We just talked about the house and the town. He loved the idea of the Christmas contest. I suspect he'll likely continue doing a display once his company is the owner..."

"Once he's the owner?" He threw his hands up and, once again, I regretted my words.

"Sorry, I meant if he becomes the owner. Look, none of this matters. You're getting stuck on something that's not happening right now. If there's going to be a purchase, it's going to happen in the future. Not any time soon. He's just here to get a look around. I'm sure it will take time to decide if they want to make the investment. He's just doing research. So why don't you let that be for now and think about the display with me?"

I tried to smile, to coax him over to where I stood with the box, but he met it with a disdainful laugh and a shake of his head.

"How cruel can you be?" He paced the small space between his door and the kitchenette. "How can you champion this display, this ode to Georgina, while also tossing all of her memories away to the first person who approaches you with a wad of cash?" He paused and my back stiffened as I drank down his words and accusations. He stopped pacing and looked at me from beneath a furrowed brow, his eyes dark and serious. "You spent so much time hunting down the little marks of Gina around the house. You know better than anyone, which patches of paint, which boards in the floor, and which iron rods on the roof were put there by Gina. She left imprints of herself all over this house and you are just going to throw them away to someone who will never know the love that went into rebuilding this place."

I bowed my head, my fingers uncertain what to do. I grabbed the hem of my coat, I shoved them into my pockets, and I wrung them together. But my hands continued to shake and tremble with guilt and remorse. In the back of my head, I knew maybe he was right. What was really stopping me from staying here? Only my grandmother's insistence that I could only survive with a stable paycheck and a healthy stock portfolio to protect me in the years to come. But, seeing her from Gina's eyes, I knew that her judgment wasn't as perfect and wise as I once thought it to be. Really, the only thing keeping me from staying was fear.

I didn't know how to not be afraid, but I knew Jordan would help me. He may have been mad then, but if he saw I was willing to take that step, if someone simply held my hand, then the walls he built up against me would crumble. I just knew it.

But when I looked back up at him, ready to beg for his help, I found a man burning with a fire I could not extinguish.

"You know, I'm glad Gina never got to meet you," he said, his lips stiff and his finger stabbing the air as he pointed his words towards me. "I'm glad she only ever knew you as an innocent child and not the selfish, heartless woman you grew up to be."

"Jordan," I said, my voice hoarse and low, his words knocking the wind from me.

"You know, I almost doubt you're even related. There's no way you're from the same family as Gina. She's far too kind and wonderful. Nothing like you."

That did it. The remorse, the guilt, the uncertainty—it all burned away as one ember from Jordan's fire ignited my skin. My lip curled, my teeth gritted together, and my eyes grew wide with disdain.

"Stop comparing me to her! I'm not Georgina and I never will be."

"That's for sure," he said, turning from me.

"Fine, you keep living in the past." I made my way around the small coffee table and headed back for the door. "As for me, I'm going to do what I need to to secure my future."

I threw the door open, and it clanged against the wall before I stormed out and slammed it shut behind me. My tears were like cool slicks of ice against the burning fire upon my cheeks.